


Skin-To-Skin: The Master and the Midwife Chapter 19 Deleted Scene.

by everyl1ttleth1ng



Series: An Austen-Lite Regency Era Midwife FitzSimmons AU. Of course. [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Childbirth, Deleted Scene, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Flirting, Fluff, LandedGentry!Fitz, Midwife!Jemma, Romance, WidowedNewMama!Daisy, midwife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyl1ttleth1ng/pseuds/everyl1ttleth1ng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a baby is born, the best thing for it is immediate and uninterrupted skin-to-skin contact. No one knows this better than a midwife. Miss Jemma Simmons, presiding over the labour of recently-widowed-but-not-too-cut-up-about-it Daisy Ward, knows this better than anyone. And so, when she needs to see to her patient’s mild post-partum haemorrhage, the only other person in the vicinity appropriate to provide the necessary skin-to-skin contact is the new mother’s handsome brother, Mr Leopold Fitz.</p><p>A deleted/re-written scene from my Austen-Lite Regency Era Midwife FitzSimmons AU in which Midwife!Jemma is deeply affected, though trying to remain professional, while attractive LandedGentry!Fitz is half-naked and tenderly cradling a newborn baby. His sister, RecentlyWidowedNewMama!Daisy, watches on in some amusement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin-To-Skin: The Master and the Midwife Chapter 19 Deleted Scene.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [otherpartyfavors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherpartyfavors/gifts), [Popsicle86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Popsicle86/gifts).



> Usually, I read the latest chapter to Mr everyl1ttleth1ng before posting each week. He's pretty into it. It's sweet. But THIS is what happened when I let him go to bed when I’d only finished writing the first half of ch19. When I caught him up with the rest of the birth scene the next day, several hours after I posted it, he said “I can’t believe you didn’t have Jemma make Fitz take his shirt off when he held the baby! She’s a midwife isn’t she? They’re always on about skin-to-skin!” And they are! He took his shirt off to hold all our newborns and now I am SO ANNOYED I didn’t think of that myself!
> 
> I decided not to just re-write ch 19, which was the idea I was toying with on tumblr the other day. The real Ch 19 has the right sort of feel for the rest of the plot, whereas this gets a bit farcical. Also, this is TOTALLY misleading as to where the relationship between the actual master and midwife is actually up to. Ch 20 will NOT be following on from here, ok? 
> 
> Our scene picks up just at the pertinent point. If you like, you can play “manly” synonym bingo as you read ;)
> 
> If you're not a long-term reader of this fic, you may want to read it (or at least Ch 19?) to make any sense of this. And be warned, some relatively graphic birthing specifics are mentioned! But it’s still classy, okay? ;)
> 
> Dedicated to two readers who are WAY more into the childbirth aspects of this story than I ever expected anyone to be (mwah to both of you!) and to Mr everyl1ttleth1ng (who incidentally thinks we're all pretty weird but in a nice way).

 

_Picking up midway through ch19:_

 

A deep concern etched itself into Mr Fitz’s features. “What sort of assistance do you require?” he asked.

“Make yourself comfortable on the lounge, Mr Fitz,” replied Jemma, laughing. “When Daisy is ready, your job shall be to hold your new niece.”

A broad smile pierced the clouds that had gathered on his brow, dispersing them entirely. “Oh!” he replied. “Then I shall of course be delighted to help.”

“Wonderful,” Jemma replied, suddenly extremely detail-oriented in her arrangement of the floor-coverings. “Then if you’d kindly slip off your waistcoat and shirt, you shall be all ready to receive her.”

She noticed the telling silence in which Mr Fitz went to make a remark and then held himself back. After a moment he tried again.

“I’m sorry, Miss Simmons,” he said politely, “I think I might have misheard you. Did you just instruct me to remove my clothing?”

She studiously turned away from him, smoothing out what may have been an imaginary wrinkle or two. “Not _all_ your clothing, Mr Fitz,” she replied, attempting to maintain a jaunty tone. She well recalled the odd sensations that had come over her when she’d demonstrated her Pinard horn and the surprising effect of her intimate encounter with the masculine form. She was determined to maintain her composure now. “It is well-documented that babies who are allowed consistent skin-to-skin contact from the moment of birth make stronger attachments to their care-givers and reach their milestones more efficiently.” She harnessed all of her courage to make stern eye-contact with the gentleman in question. “You wouldn’t want to hinder the little one’s development in any way would you, sir?”

Fitz’s hands travelled tentatively to the buttons of his waistcoat. “Of course not, Miss Simmons. I shall do whatever is required for her health and well-being.”

She turned her back to him once more, keenly aware of the almost imperceptible sounds of fabric moving against fabric. It was odd, she’d required this of many a new father before. Why the thought so overpowered her when it came to Mr Fitz was beyond her ken.

“Err, perhaps I shall hold off on removing my shirt until we are quite ready,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Upon hearing this, Jemma boldly raised her eyes, expecting to be quite unperturbed, but it appeared that it was not merely the sight of exposed male flesh that so affected her. Without his stiff neck-cloth, the soft linen of his shirt fell loosely open, inexplicably increasing his air of masculine command. The efforts of removing his waistcoat and cravat had somehow caused his curls to fall in rakish disarray. She could no more have explained it than circumnavigated the globe, but the more informally Mr Fitz was dressed, the greater the impression of his manly presence.

Eventually, once the little girl had fallen decidedly asleep at the breast, Jemma pulled herself together enough to show Daisy how to gently break the baby’s seal by inserting her little finger between the still-determined lips and her own flesh.

“Do try and remember to do that,” Jemma murmured, carefully taking the little girl out of her mother’s arms. “She’ll cause you no small amount of pain over time if you forget.”

She turned in the direction of Mr Fitz who looked up at her uncertainly, one hand hovering at the nape of his neck, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. She took a deep breath. She was going to have to retain her professionalism as he removed the final garment.

Something about the expectation in her expression obviously convinced him the time had come. He grasped a fistful of the fabric and pulled it easily over his head.

Jemma felt her jaw dropping in direct relation to the riding up of the gentleman’s shirt hem. Never before had she particularly noticed the sharp line of a new father’s breeches resting against his pale skin, the intriguing, disappearing trail of dark hair taking the place of the swathes of linen customarily tucked beneath them. Never before had she thought to study the chiselled definition of abdominal muscles, such a contrast to the soft swelling of the pregnant female form with which she was so familiar. The hard plane of Mr Fitz’s chest, with which she’d already had that trying encounter, came once more into view, but she found herself utterly unprepared to cope with the cumulative sight of his dusky nipples, the dips and rises of his collarbones, the breadth of his shoulders, the hard strength of his biceps, the raised pale-blue veins in his forearms, and the detailed mechanics of wrists and knuckles usually hidden beneath his billowy sleeves and cuffs.

Some moments went by in which Jemma drank in this rare and highly educational sight before she realised the man in question was waiting for her to take some action. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten the hard-won bundle in her arms but the sight of Mr Fitz’s quizzical blue eyes reigning over all of the virile glory that rested beneath them snapped her from her reverie.

He reached out for the baby and Jemma was once more struck by the shifting shadows of muscle and sinew in his form. Fitz’s unfamiliarity with holding such tiny infants caused him to take hold of her arms too, as if they made up part of the bundle. Concentrating hard on his charge, he unwittingly tucked Jemma’s left forearm and hand between the little girl and his bare chest. She gasped at his warm vitality and the smooth touch of his skin against hers, just catching herself from stumbling forward into his lap. She fell heavily into the seat beside him and, the minute she felt confident he had a good hold of the child, worked to carefully extricate her trapped limb.

Her new and unplanned proximity to his naked torso did little to improve her distractibility. A slight salty-sweet scent seemed to emanate from him, intoxicating in its very foreignness. The human male, or at least _this_ human male, was a deeply complex and intriguing creature.

Mr Fitz’s grin as he looked down at his tiny niece was profoundly heart-warming, which only served to enhance all of Jemma’s reactions.

“What a beauty you are,” he whispered, lifting her closer to his face and pressing the gentlest of whiskery kisses to her furrowed brow. “And if I know your mother at all, what a terror you shall prove to be!”

Daisy laughed softly as Jemma harnessed all her strength, pushing herself up and out of the magnetic pull that Mr Fitz inexplicably seemed to be holding over her. She was at last able to find some sympathy for those women who allowed their reputations to be sullied by men – now that she could see such an attractive example so intimately, she was forced to admit their deep appeal.

Jemma willed herself to concentrate on the task at hand, helping Daisy to her feet and over to the pile of blankets that defended the luxurious rug.

“We shall not tug on the cord now, Daisy,” Jemma explained. “Doing so can cause a post-partum haemorrhage which we’d really rather avoid.”

“Is there anything I should do?” Daisy asked. “I seem to be experiencing quite a lot of bleeding as it is.”

“Do not concern yourself. That is very normal. Your post-partum bleeding is known as lochia and the flow will last for six or so weeks. Nursing your daughter is the best thing you can do for now,” Jemma replied. “It releases hormones in your body that help the uterus to contract back to its normal size. It will also help the lochia to subside in time. The little bit of nursing she stayed awake to do just now should hopefully have helped the placenta to prepare for an uncomplicated expulsion.”

“And if it has not?” Daisy asked.

“Then we might get you to cough a few times, or perhaps Mr Fitz could tell you some uproarious jokes. Laughter often does the trick, as does a good cry.”

“Are you implying that my jokes are just as likely to make Daisy cry as laugh?” Mr Fitz asked from his cosy nest in mock high-dudgeon.

Jemma laughed, carefully keeping her eyes averted. “I see that exposure to some of the more earthy aspects of life has done nothing to dull your keen observation, Mr Fitz.” She briefly risked a glance at him and immediately regretted it, finding herself overwhelmed by sensation at the sight of a bare-chested man tenderly cradling an infant. Her appreciation for biological processes had never been more all-encompassing. No wonder the human race continued to replenish itself. Perhaps it was that she had always managed to have her attention focused elsewhere in the presence of other men, perhaps it was that the removal of clothing made women in the vicinity more susceptible to these potent male pheromones, or perhaps, she allowed herself to admit, _this_ gentleman was genuinely extraordinary.

Daisy’s laugh quickly turned to a groan as the purple mass expelled itself from her body. The flow of blood was increasingly heavy so Jemma reached for a few more of the provided towels, thankful that Mrs Hartley so excelled at preparation.

“Look to Daisy, Miss Simmons!” Mr Fitz pleaded as she carefully examined the placenta to ensure she could see no signs of retained product.

She looked up to see Daisy trembling violently.

“Never fear, Mr Fitz,” she replied, studiously avoiding his gaze and helping Daisy back to her well-covered seat, wrapping a couple of clean blankets around the lady’s shoulders. She sought Daisy’s eyes. “Uncontrollable shaking is an extremely common reaction to having birthed the placenta. Perhaps we shall let your little girl stay in the arms of her uncle until this settles down. After that I might attempt a little massage of your stomach just to ensure we break up any clots and to see if we can slow this bleeding a little.”

Daisy nodded, still shaking.

But after the right amount of time had passed, the shaking had diminished and Jemma had attempted to massage Daisy’s abdomen, her bleeding remained heavy.

It had not occurred to Jemma as she had gently kneaded Daisy’s stomach, that her eyes had wandered once more to where Mr Fitz sat cooing at his brand new niece. A glance down at her patient’s smirking face suggested that the thought may have occurred to Daisy.

Given that the little girl was beginning to squirm restlessly in her uncle’s embrace, Jemma suggested that it might be time for another attempt at feeding for the benefit of both. She helped Daisy to sit up and after moving a large pile of protective blankets over the upholstery, carefully guided her onto the lounge next to her brother. Not daring to risk another intimate encounter with Mr Fitz, she concentrated on the minute details of settling her patient comfortably by his side.

“Now, Mr Fitz, if you wouldn’t mind, could you carefully pass the baby to her mama?”

In the movement of the exchange, she took up her scalpel and furtively cut a sliver from the mass of placenta.

She waited for him to resume his seat, trying not to admire the pale expanse of his back as he knelt between her and Daisy, gently placing the newborn in her arms.

“Daisy,” she said, willing her voice to stay calm as Mr Fitz resumed his seat beside them. “I’m just going to slip something into your cheek now to help with the bleeding.”

Daisy obediently opened her mouth, barely lifting her gaze from her baby, and Jemma tucked the sliver between Daisy’s cheek and gum line to aid the absorption of the powerful hormones into her bloodstream.

She glanced up at Mr Fitz and found him frozen with his arms in his sleeves, his shirt half way between his lap and his head. He was staring at her with an expression that fell somewhere on the continuum between horror and awe.

“I am a scientist, Mr Fitz, as you well know,” she whispered to him, not allowing herself to lean too close. “Various colleagues of mine swear that the ingestion of the placenta reduces haemorrhaging, restores iron lost during pregnancy and acts as a potent galactagogue.”

He raised one sceptical eyebrow, then shrugged his shirt over his head. Clothing was a vast improvement, but without the restrictive formalities of neck-cloth, waistcoat and jacket, he still emanated that relaxed confidence that seemed to bring her so undone.

Jemma shrugged, leaning over Daisy to check the child’s attachment. “I concede, it may all be bunk, but I am at least certain it can do Daisy no harm. If she reports feeling unusually wonderful, I shall certainly make a note of it.”

“It is not for me to question the methods of an expert in her field, Miss Simmons,” he replied, leaning back in his seat and tucking his hands behind his head. “I only wish I were less squeamish about it all.”

“The key is exposure, Mr Fitz,” said Jemma, wondering if she even believed herself after her second affecting exposure to her friend’s flesh. “The science behind that is significantly firmer. You can acclimatise yourself into serene acceptance of anything given the right amount of exposure.”

His keen blue eyes shone in such a way that further belied her claim. She found herself having to turn back to her patient.

“How are you feeling, Daisy?” she enquired.

“I do feel those ongoing contractions you mentioned, Jemma,” Daisy replied. “But after what I’ve experienced during labour, these feel almost comical in their feebleness. And you are being highly entertaining my dear, I find myself quite diverted.”

Jemma fixed her with a look. “I cannot imagine what you might mean, Daisy. But you have had a trying day. I suppose we can’t expect you to make sense after all that.”

Mr Fitz looked confusedly from one woman to the other while Daisy laughed warmly.

“It is wonderful to hear your after-pains are minimal,” Jemma continued, trying to ignore her patient’s giggles. “I don’t suppose you would let me quickly check your bleeding?”

Daisy shuffled momentarily in her seat until Jemma was satisfied than in actual fact her bleeding _had_ slowed. Whether that could be attributed to her nursing, the length of time that had passed since the birth, or judicious application of the placenta, Jemma could not yet say, but she enjoyed the thought of adding all these observations to her body of research and reporting back to Mr Fitz regarding her findings.

Daisy’s attention was entirely consumed by the little girl at her breast, nursing enthusiastically for one so very new.

“Do you know what you shall name her?” Jemma whispered.

Daisy raised her twinkling eyes to meet Jemma’s. “Her name is Jemima, Miss Simmons, named to honour you.”

Jemma felt her hand fly instinctively to press against her sternum, as if trying to hold in the flood of feeling.

“I do not have any confidence that by so naming her I have ensured that it will be you she follows after, but I do so hope that you shall play a large part in her life, Jemma, so that she might have at least a hope of emulating your example.”

She looked to where Mr Fitz leaned dotingly over Daisy’s shoulder. That same muscle twitched in his tightly clenched jaw and his eyes shone with unshed tears as he vigorously nodded his approval.

Daisy cautioned a glance at her brother then turned back to Jemma and winked.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus interjection from the sometimes-helpful-often-ridiculous source of inspiration for this deleted scene (in OTT exaggerated Jamie Fraser-esque Scottish accent): “I’m sorry, Miss Simmons. I think I might have misheard you. Did you just ask me to circumnavigate your globe?” Shocker :D
> 
> ALSO, I am afeared that some IRL responsibilities MAY delay the posting of Ch 20 til maybe even as late as Wednesday 27th. I am re-arranging my plot and mucking around with ideas and re-writing this certainly did not help with my time management! Forgive me, dear readers! I hope that this might help to tide you over until then.


End file.
